Max HeyraudFour Four Magazine Features Editor, Aero, reflects on how Ireland’s restrictive club hours have shaped the way DJs play and how we consume club culture, ahead of his all-night-long show at Tengu tomorrow night.
Ireland’s restrictive closing times have fundamentally shaped how we DJ, how we consume club culture, and how long that culture can thrive for many people. We’re blessed with uniquely chaotic, frenzied, hedonistic crowds here. There’s a reason DJs have long praised Ireland as one of their favourite places to play. It’s never been about the best clubs, the finest sound systems, or a deeply institutionalised nightlife culture. It’s about the people. There’s a haywired, unhinged energy in Irish crowds that makes the atmosphere unlike anywhere else. At its best, an Irish club night can feel like standing in the epicentre of the universe, when DJ and crowd are locked in together, it’s primal, almost animalistic. It’s magic.
That energy has shaped how DJs play here. I’d argue Ireland is home to some of the best DJs in the world, per capita. Especially in techno, there’s a distinctively Irish style—raw, urgent, uncompromising. Look at Sunil Sharpe, Jon Hussey, Cailín, Jamie Behan—each of them embodies a certain madness, a feral edge that comes from playing to Irish crowds. Our clubs have been good, sometimes great, but Ireland has never had the cultural recognition of places like Berlin, Amsterdam, London, or Manchester. That meant that, more often than not, great DJs find themselves playing in pubs, DIY spaces, or makeshift venues not built for dance music, and often to crowds who aren’t deeply engaged with the culture. That dynamic forces DJs to win people over quickly. With just four hours for a full night, and often only one or two hours per set, Irish DJs learn to make an immediate impact.
This pressure has created a style that’s visceral and rugged. DJs here can’t afford to slowly build a vibe or let people sink in over time; they’ve got to grab the room and hold it. The best Irish DJs don’t give you a choice but to move. Watch Jamie Behan mix for five minutes and you’ll see it: quick, abrasive transitions, a live-by-the-sword, die-by-the-sword approach. The time limit makes you efficient, forces you to present music people might normally dismiss in a way that becomes irresistible.
But it’s not all positive. I’m conscious I might be romanticising what are ultimately restrictive and oppressive laws that have strangled our club culture. The truth is, the four-hour night has killed a lot of potential. We have an abundance of talent, but without space to play, many DJs never progress. Things stagnate, or artists move abroad, and the cycle repeats. Even with Ireland’s growing infrastructure—better clubs, stronger nights, a booming festival culture—the lack of time means the next wave of talent risks withering before it can take root.
It also robs DJs of the chance to learn long-format storytelling. In many countries, a two-hour set is short; in Ireland, that’s considered generous. Online, people debate the “festivalisation” of club culture worldwide, but here, it’s been the reality for as long as I’ve been involved, nearly a decade. Storytelling through music, that extended journey, simply doesn’t exist in most Irish clubs. Compare that to Berlin, where a single DJ set in Berghain can last longer than an entire night out in Dublin. Over there, people aren’t rushed—if you sit down for two hours, you’ve only missed a fraction of the night. In Ireland, that’s half your experience gone. We’re offering dancers just a slice of what club culture can be. Those who’ve stood on a floor for eight hours or more know the energy that emerges is something beyond music: a collective experience, irreplaceable and untranslatable to short-form nights.
Tomorrow, I’m playing in Tengu for four hours. I’ve been DJing in clubs for eight years, and it still feels daunting, because in Dublin, I can count on one hand how many times I’ve played that long solo. It forces me to rethink my approach. In Berlin, I’ve learned that a more refined style works. In Dublin, I’ve usually gone balls-to-the-wall from the start, because that’s what the timeframe demands. But sustaining that for four hours is a different challenge. It’s a chance to move into storytelling, to play what I truly want, to give the night an arc rather than a straight incline. To finally step outside the limits that our laws have imposed, if only for one evening.
You can purchase tickets to Aero All-Night-Long at Tengu here.
